Unbreakable - A Beautiful Lie · (Roswell Fanfiction) · √

FIFTY-FOUR

I was alone in Max's room.

He had left just a minute ago - after tucking me into his bed - to 'make some arrangements'.

I knew from eavesdropping on his inner monologue that those 'arrangements' included fixing cover stories that kept my dad's suspicions about my absence under control and meant that neither Max nor I had to show up at school today.

Max had been very firm on the point of us skipping school, the reasons including 1) Sean would be there, 2) both of us had barely gotten any sleep, which was mostly dangerous to me since I wouldn't be able to put up any resistance to Sean, 3) Maria was asking too many questions and Max had understood from a first-hand view into my brain that I was having more and more trouble dodging the truth around her, and 4) Max wanted to give me as much information as possible about the members at the meeting tonight. To prepare me.

He hadn't spoken reason number 5 out loud, but it had rung clearly in my head. He wanted to spend as much time alone with me as possible before our verdict.

Now, my body shivering in the absence of Max, I slowly took in my surroundings. I had been in Max's room twice (at least that I could remember).

The first time I had been in excruciating pain and Max had healed me after my burns had started to reappear. The second time I had been searching for Max while infused with an inhuman coldness, knowing that Max had been/was being abused in some way.

Neither of those events had given me the opportunity to actually look at his room. I finally had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of Max's personal life. The part of his life that was very similar to that of a regular adolescent boy.

The collection of guitars by the large windows. The black desk, which gave an empty impression due to its organized piles of pens and stacks of paper. The single wooden ruler on the desk was neatly lined up with the table surface.

The bookcase next to the window was filled to the brim with books. Even though some books had been forcibly shelved on top of others, it didn't give a messy appearance. There was organization in the mess.

I shook my head in thought. Max Evans exercised control in all things.

I would have probably found this amusing, if I'd have the energy to.

My eyelids were growing heavier as Max's bed linen trapped my body heat and started to warm my shivering body. I felt safe here, surrounded by the smell of Max. There were so many aspects of that feeling that were laughable. I never would have imagined, going back just a couple of days, that I would feel safe in Mr. Evans' house. Especially not buried underneath Max's covers, listening to the faint sounds Max's father was making in the kitchen downstairs.

My mind was processing everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, making me grow gradually weaker as sleep crawled closer. Within minutes, I was asleep.

I was startled into wakefulness, not having realized that I had fallen asleep, by the familiar heavy clicking sound of a door being locked.

My heart was, by learned habit, beating quickly in my chest as my eyes sprung open at the sound, only to find Max over by the door, looking at me apologetically, having realized that he had just woken me up.

My heart immediately calmed. I hadn't realized how tense my body had been until it relaxed in the tracing of him crossing the room to reach the bed.

I stifled a yawn and mumbled, "Hey."

"You're exhausted," he said regretfully. Like it was his fault.

I looked at the paleness of his face, at the darkness under his eyes, and the slight hunch to his strong shoulders. His own weariness was pulsating off him.